


Odyssey

by Antiquity



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Peaceful Interlude, Pizza
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-08-18 20:56:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16524491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antiquity/pseuds/Antiquity
Summary: Deconstructed pizza is, in essence, Dick picking off the bits Bruce likes best and feeding them to him and then eating the lovely cheesy tomatoey greasy dough at the end. The whole endeavour is improved still by the kisses Bruce sometimes brushes to his fingertips when they have a morning like this, quiet and calm, the room made a bastion by the low banks of rolling grey clouds all around them.





	Odyssey

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I'm back! This little half-hour ficlet is mainly just to prove to myself that I am in fact alive and able to write bits and pieces not connected to the beast of a fic I've been wrangling with for a long while, which should be up soon. Evidently my grandiloquence has not been visibly affected by the task: Bruce and Dick are reading book 5, lines 32-47, of The Odyssey, translated by Robert Fitzgerald. 
> 
> Anyway, I quite like it and I hope you will too :)

He gets around the fact that Bruce doesn’t like day-old reheated pizza by calling it ‘deconstructed pizza’ and eating most of it himself. Developed through trial and error, beta-tested in the first heady rush of their relationship when food was a necessity squirrelled away between rounds, and lately refined when time is something to be savoured, not stolen, as grey begins to creep into black, Dick considers it a win-win solution and rests the plate on the mattress by Bruce’s shoulder as he curls himself back into bed. Bruce hums without looking away from his book, lifting his arm as Dick gets comfortable and dropping it again to resume the long strokes up and down Dick’s bare side.

Peeling off a piece of pepperoni, Dick slips it into Bruce’s mouth and shuffles around until he’s comfortable with head and shoulders on Bruce’s chest, legs curled up by his lover’s shoulder under the soft fleece blanket best suited to the grey drizzle misting across the penthouse windows. Deconstructed pizza is, in essence, Dick picking off the bits Bruce likes best and feeding them to him and then eating the lovely cheesy tomatoey greasy dough at the end with the mushrooms and bacon Bruce prefers not to touch. The whole endeavour is improved still by the kisses Bruce sometimes brushes to his fingertips when they have a morning like this, quiet and calm, the room made a bastion by the low banks of rolling grey clouds all around them and the relocation of their electronics to the lounge.

“Hermes, you have much practice on our missions,” Bruce continues, the hand not holding his battered book trailing down to hip and thigh and the marks left there last night and then back up to trace the wings of Dick’s shoulder blades. “Go make it known to the softly-braided nymph that we, whose will is not subject to error, order Odysseus home; let him depart.”

He kisses Dick’s fingers after an offering of roasted potato and tilts the book so Dick can read while Bruce chews.

“But let him have no company, gods or men, only a raft that he must lash together, and after twenty days, worn out at sea, he shall make land upon the garden isle, Scheria, of our kinsmen, the Phaiakians. Let these men take him into their hearts in honour and berth him in a ship, and send him home, with gifts of garments, gold and bronze – so much he had not counted on from Troy could he have carried home his share of plunder. His destiny is to see his friends again under his own roof, in his father’s country.”

Bruce forgoes his shoulder blades for a moment and caresses Dick’s throat and jaw instead as he reads the last lines, rough fingertips trailing over cheek and brows and laugh lines spreading from eyes, thumb an ever-worshipful disciple as it glides along Dick’s bottom lip. Dick kisses it and adds a little nip, more for familiarity than any desire to charge the peaceful somnolence of the room with that kind of tension. Not that they’ve ever really needed a spark to set the burn between them alight, but last night was wildfire enough that it’s pleasant to let the embers this morning smoulder. He picks a piece of red pepper next and waits for Bruce to lick the herby-salty tip of his finger before choosing a slice of eggplant for himself as Bruce reads on.

“No words were lost on Hermes the Wayfinder, who bent to tie his beautiful sandals on, ambrosial, golden, that carry him over water or over endless land in a swish of the wind, and took the wand with which he charms asleep – or when he wills, awake – the eyes of men.”

Dick brushes the pad of his clean pinkie feather-light over Bruce’s eyelashes, along his brows, smiling as Bruce watches him, smiling softer as Bruce smiles back. He brings his finger to his lips to transfer a kiss to the furrowed spot on Bruce’s forehead where the third eye is supposed to sit, window to the inner soul, gateway to the heart. “It took a while,” he says, nestling closer, “but we’re awake now.”

 

 


End file.
